


The Storm

by RavenAurelieChoiseau



Category: Stargent - Fandom, Stetopher - Fandom, Teen Wolf (TV), steter - Fandom
Genre: Alpha Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Biting, Choking, Chris is a switch, Chris is a total daddy, Coming In Pants, Derek broke Stiles' heart by leaving, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Omega Peter Hale, Peter Hale has a huge cock, Porn, Rimming, Rutting, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Shameless Smut, Shower Sex, Smut, Stiles Stilinski is a Little Shit, Stiles is a manwhore, Stiles is a switch, Topping from the Bottom, Water Sex, seated reverse cowboy (sorta), will update tags with new chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 12:00:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16095239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenAurelieChoiseau/pseuds/RavenAurelieChoiseau
Summary: Stiles has changed since Derek left. He's not sad anymore. He's a little shit. He's cocky, sexy, and insatiable. He fucks who he wants, when he wants, and on his terms.He's in fixed sexual arrangements with Chris and Peter, together and separately. But sometimes he pleasures Scott when he's in one of his moods and an orgasm seems like more fun than studying.This first chapter is Steter-centric with brief mentions of other sexual encounters.





	The Storm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marlislash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marlislash/gifts).



> Oh I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. It's unabashed smut.

“It’s going to storm.” The candle flame does a tango, light a diffracted projection against the pale walls that Peter just had repainted.  
Stiles leans against the window facing the wolf’s bed. His finger traces the lightning through the pane.  
  
“I know. I could smell the rain in the air this morning. It’s creeping its way in from the south.”  
  
The clouds were pregnant with humidity when Stiles left for the countryside. Deciding to meet at Peter’s summer home perhaps wasn’t the best idea in hindsight.    
“Do you think he’ll make it?” As soon as the flash fades the thunder makes a second Stiles materialize.  
“It’s going to come down hard.”  
  
A pair of cerulean eyes scrutinize the brunette. Stiles’ white t-shirt angles off his shoulders and then droops, like it would on a hanger. The boy has grown thinner. Has Peter been engaging him too much in ‘extracurriculars’ he wonders?  
  
“I’m sure Christopher is quite capable of driving in the rain, Stiles.”  
  
The smirk forms almost immediately and the mole on Stiles’ cheek, just beyond his dimple line, angles up.  
“Chris is capable of a lot of things.”  
  
Two nights ago, for example. Stiles’ point of view was peripheral, right cheek to wet tile, the shower cord swaying three inches from his pointy nose.  
Hot water. Cold ceramic. The shower head beating a stream directly onto his reddened dick, offset to Chris’ deep thrusts.  
The beard tickled his nape as the hunter bit a necklace around his throat. Some flesh caught in his teeth as he growled “You’re mine. You know that, right?”  
  
He wasn’t. He wasn’t Chris’.  
He wasn’t Peter’s.  
He wasn’t Derek’s (not anymore, anyway).  
Nor was he Scott’s.  
  
Stiles was on loan to them for slots of time of _his_ choosing. He’d never give himself so wholly to another man, ever again. Not after the dark wolf.  
  
“I know, baby. I know. All yours…” Stiles purred the last r, and Chris unhinged. The rest was grunts and then a discontinuous moan, finishing in a dramatic explosion of Stiles’ creamy release, ivory like the wall in his line of blurred vision.  
The hunter followed, using the orgasm’s clench to tap his jizz inside the writhing brunette.  
  
Stiles revels in allowing men to think they possess him. Wasn’t it Bruce Lee who said possession began in the mind?  
He learned a long time ago that people can be easily manipulated if they think they’re the ones who have control. (Watching all those kung fu films wasn’t a waste of time after all).  
  
He wasn’t always this way. Stiles. He wasn’t always a playboy. A manwhore.  
Stiles was once a soft-boiled egg. Delicate. Easily broken. Squashy. Virginal. Someone who daydreamed about finding “The One.” And he did.  
He did until he lost him. Everything post-sourwolf was harder. Murkier. Colder. He learned to adapt.  
  
He boasts a laundry list of lovers now, each with his own inclination. There’s nothing secret about it. Stiles likes sex and he likes variety. In all its shapes, sizes, and why not? Ages.  
  
His most impressive conquests are the older men. He wonders about the Daddy kink sometimes, but he’d never form that word to scream out while fucking either lover.  
  
Chris Argent. He desires Stiles’ body. Everything about the man is sex. The boy can almost pinpoint the exact moment the hunter’s cock hardens when they meet up.  
The man is provocative, hot, and rough around the edges. Stiles likes to punish himself with Chris. On Chris. And sometimes in Chris.  
Chris desires transgression and obliteration of his past.  
  
But the past is always there. You can pull a dropcloth over it, but it will never dissipate.  
  
Peter Hale.  He likes the idea of keeping the boy as a pet. He’ll scent him and caress his dark hair until they fall asleep, tangled in each other. Sometimes Peter Hale likes to play with Chris Argent, and Stiles happily joins in. The brunette spoils himself with the older wolf. His elegance and extravagance intrigue him.  
  
It’s important Stiles have at least two cardinal sins among his failings, no?  
  
And occasionally there’s Scott. His Scottie boy.  
Stiles is Scott’s guilty pleasure. Stiles is the Alpha’s defiance to social norms, wrapped in affection and certainty. Scott scratches his itch with a familiar fumble in the darkness, textbooks kicked off beds to make room for two hungry bodies. There are more cum stains on pajama pants than bedsheets. They have fun.   
Stiles relaxes when he’s around his best friend. The expectations are clear and the lovemaking selfless. Doesn’t hurt that the Alpha gives some of the best blow jobs he’s ever had.  
  
Derek. Derek was the one that still stings.  
Stiles’ Achilles tendon. The love of his life. He was Stiles’ first, the one who dragged him, almost kicking and screaming, into the realm of carnal knowledge. They ravaged each other and with time, didn’t just fall in love...they fucking plummeted.  
Such an all-consuming emotion was destined for tragedy. Even Shakespeare couldn’t have written this one better.  
Derek ran off, Stiles’ heart tucked under his coat like a stolen artifact.  
Derek ruined Stiles for anyone coming after. It was brutal. Jesus, though, did they fit together well while it lasted.  
  
Stiles has been staring at his reflection for a while.  
  
“Stiles? Did you hear me? I said I don’t mind sharing you with him. But I like to think you prefer me.”  
Peter examines his fresh manicure, sat up on his throne in the corner of the room. His bare torso reflects the candlelight, the amber glow a reminder of dusk.  
It’s a lie that Peter looks so tan. A playful mind trick.  
  
“Why the one candle?” Stiles watches the road. Still no sign of the hunter.  
  
“I like to see how the light plays off your body. You have an exquisite body, Stiles.”  
  
The California King on his California king. The mattress stretches 4 inches longer because Peter enjoys to comfortably 69. What isn’t four inches, but twice that, is his penis, sheathed in silk. Close to tenting on his groin, he palms it and hisses.  
  
“Baby…” the wolf whimpers.  
  
The rain has dirtied the glass. The wind sprays the tiny droplets unevenly. Stiles can almost feel it on his thirsty skin, like that day he and Derek had -  
   
“I heard you,” Stiles pirouettes. Sighs.  
Long strides forward.  
“Peter, you know I don’t have favorites. But if I did…”  
  
Redwood burns in Stiles’ eyes. His steps have brought him to the foot of the bed, black silk thumbed as it’s pulled off of the wolf like a retreating tide.  
  
“I’d like to stop talking now, Peter. Why don’t I put that gorgeous mouth of yours to better use? I’m sure once Chris gets here he’ll have plenty of fun things in mind for us to do together. Right now I want some one-on-one time with my favorite wolf.”  
  
Peter frowns, his paw rolling his large, downy balls against the pads of his digits. His pubes are much lighter than his head hair suggests. Rug doesn’t match the curtains.  
The other hand, fisted, tugs enough on the base of his dick to pull his foreskin over the glistening crown.  
What a superlative organ, the boy muses.   
  
“Oh, Stiles. Now you’re making me jealous. You said favorite _wolf_. Not favorite lover. I’ll have to resign myself to the fact that Christopher must have other… skills I do not possess. I’m assuming my lupine rival is Scott, given that my nephew has taken his leave and you despise Isaac. I suppose the young Alpha still lacks in experience though. Perhaps he makes up for it by being fine, fresh meat.”  
  
The brunette shakes his tousled head. “You’d be surprised, Peter. Scott is a quick learner. But I’m not looking for an intern. What we have is more… provisional. Whimsical if you will. And no need for jealousy, my fair wolf. It’s not a color that suits you.”  
  
The wolf snickers. “Such a mouth on you, boy.”  
“Shut me up then.”  
Two fingertips reach for him in the semi-darkness. From somewhere near the thunder rattles the walls.   
  
Stiles’ t-shirt hits the floor at the mention of Christopher.  
Naked by the time Peter references the young Alpha.  
  
“And as for Chris…” He now crawls onto the bed, all fours.  “Chris, as you well know, is simply irresistible. That is his special skill.”  
  
Stiles leans down, mouth open in invitation. Peter sticks his muscle out, and the brunette sucks on it. His freckled arm reaches around, pulling his tight torso closer.  
  
“But you, my wolf…” a velvety hand grasps the long shaft and Peter jerks at the touch. “You have something they all should be envious of.”  
  
Peter grins.  
The wolf bites into the boy’s lower lip, looking for that ember in his eyes which signals his surrender. He plays tough, but Peter knows how to make him melt.  
  
“Mmm,” the wolf moans, easing his index finger into the cleft of Stiles’ ass. When he gets to the ribbed hole, pushing in the extremity, the brunette grunts.  
_And there it is._  
  
“Bend over,” Peter whispers.  
Stiles hesitates.  
“I want you to fuck me, Peter. But suck me off first. I need your mouth on me. The heat. _Please_.”  
Stile’s voice is husky. Dirty.  
  
The ‘please’ reeks of need, and it fucking turns Peter on to be _needed._  
  
Stiles’ cock, obviously less impressive than the Omega’s, is nevertheless above average in girth. He smashes against Peter’s lips, giving him a small nudge with his dick against his leg.  
“Go on _wolf_. Suck me.”  
  
_Fucker._ Peter’s cock is on fire.  
  
“Don’t have to ask me twice, _boy_. But first I want to eat you out. Roll over.”  
“Ugh fuck, Peter.”  
“Do it for me.”  
Stiles can’t resist those baby blues. He flips.  
  
The wolf moistens his lips, edges down until Stiles’ pucker is under his pointy tip. Stiles looks like he’s praying, forehead resting on the back of his squirming hands.  
“Oh shit,” the anticipation is excruciating.  
  
Peter spreads his cheeks, starting with short laps, until Stiles pushes back and is dueling with the wolf’s muscle.  
“More, give me more Peter! FUCK!”  
  
Stiles’ cock drips onto the bed below, the back of his thighs damp with saliva. His forearms tremble.  
“Christ, so fucking hot…”  
“Mmm, fuck… you taste so good.” The wolf’s face is soaked, lips swollen from exertion. If he continues, he’s going to explode.  
“I,” he pants, struggling to speak. What added value would more words offer.   
“I don’t think I can wait, Stiles. I need to fuck you _right now._ ”  
  
Stiles sits up, boner so stiff it tickles his belly button.  “Do it. Fuck me.”  
  
Peter sits on the edge of the bed, his huge cock heavy with blood.  
He invites Stiles on his lap with a slap on the knee. Stiles backs up, facing out.  
  
The boy hovers above him, on tip toes because Peter’s cock is so long.  
  
Stiles is delirious with lust.  
“Put it in, Peter. Fucking just …put it in.” There is a pitchy edge to his begging. Peter relishes in torturing the boy. He can wait a few seconds after all.  
  
“I can’t seem to find where to put it. It’s so dark…”  
  
Stiles looks back at him, on the verge of violence. “REALLY?! Oh my god, you dick. DO IT!”  
  
A chuckle later, the foreskin pulls back enough to allow the rounded head access to the opening. Stiles is slick with spit and his own secretions. Once the tip breaks the seal, the rest slides in.  
  
“OH FUCK,” Stiles lowers himself with a sigh. "Jesus fuck.."  
  
His strong thighs bounce on Peter’s once he rides him. Peter clutches the boy with one arm over his chest, stroking his needy dick with the other.  
Pulse swift, breath shallow.  
  
“Fuck baby, you are so hard for me. So hard for your wolf…”  
Peter shuts his eyes, colors floating under his lids.  
  
Stiles’ face is locked in a grimace, 8 inches of pure manhood drilling into him. Up and down he seesaws on the thick cock until a few minutes pass and he slows.  
  
“Destroy me, Peter.”  
There’s nothing left in him. Stiles wants release.  
  
The attack has no warning. The thrusting is angled, precise. Stiles’ asshole is so stretched he can feel his insides bruise, and it’s magnificent.  
  
“There?” Peter breathes, fully aware he’s hitting Stiles’ sweet spot like a jackhammer. The boy’s toes have curled.  
“Oh fuck yeah, fuck…”  
The wolf rubs more vigorously, Stiles' tip soaked in pre-cum.  
  
Stiles tenses. He’s close.  
  
“Do it,” he pleads of the wolf.  
  
Peter understands. Through gritted teeth, his own orgasm so close, he asks consent.  
“Are you sure?”  
Stiles nods, head bobbing along with his body.  
“Do it.”  
  
Peter’s generous paw ghosts up his chest, until it reaches his smooth, luscious throat. His fingers splay, Stiles’ head thrown back in offering.  
The pads of his fingers compress the windpipe.  
  
Stiles wheezes, Peter’s jerking concentrated right under his crown. Oh Jesus he’s going to faint if he doesn’t come soon.  
  
The burn navigates the brunette’s privates… Peter multi-tasks. He listens to the boy’s lungs, ear pressed to his upper back, as he continues to impale him and stroke him.  
They move as one now.  
Stiles’ heartbeat reverberates between them.  
  
Jesus, this is sensory overload.  
  
It doesn't take long. Stiles breaks.  
His body contracts and cum fountains from him, coating the wolf’s hand and Stiles’ thigh. Some of it falls to the floor with a plop.   
  
“Oh holy god,” the boy sibilates, chest heaving as he rides out his orgasm against Peter’s lap.  
  
When he stills, Peter frees his hand, embracing Stiles from behind with both arms. He adjusts for one last plunge.  
  
The veins in his neck pop and it’s all the self-control in the world for the werewolf not to tear into his lover’s neck.  
  
Peter convulses. His jizz is so thick, so warm, that Stiles can feel it pooling at his anus.  
  
“Fuck, Stiles…FUCK!”  
Teeth break a little skin, but it’s nothing Stiles isn’t used to.  
  
“Oh fuck, Peter,” he breathes. “Peter be careful coming out. I want you to plug it in me. I want to show Chris.”  
  
This load was particularly copious.  
Peter lifts Stiles gently, lowering him onto the bed sideways.  
He pulls out only when the boy’s ass is in the air, the length shiny with spunk.  
  
“Stay like that, baby. Let me grab the plug.”  
Stiles hugs his knees, the fieriness of his release warming him all over like a low fever.  
  
The steel, flanged end slides in with ease a moment later. It's almost a joke after Peter's fat cock.  
The dark jewel decorating Stiles’ opening sparkles against the light.  
  
“There. You’re perfect. Wait ‘till Christopher sees it.”  
Peter kisses Stiles on the mouth, stroking his hair back from his face.  
  
A drenched Chris Argent crosses the threshold to the bedroom, dropping his bag by the chair covered in decorative pillows. He always has to make a dramatic entrance.   
“Well it's hell on earth out there. Brilliant idea, Peter. You both better fuck me good after that drive."   
Chris surveys the room. The bed is disheveled and Stiles looks up at him from beneath the wolf. Supine and wrecked, he winks.  
  
"Hey baby," Stiles utters in a scratchy voice. Small bruises in the shape of a hand dot his upper neck.   
  
"What the fuck happened here? You pricks didn't even wait for me?!"

**Author's Note:**

> This is for my new friend Marlislash. So glad to have met you.  
> As always please kudo and comment, and thanks for reading!  
> I was planning on a second chapter but for the moment I think I am going to leave it at one. I haven't been inspired all that much to continue this particular one.


End file.
